


Shatter Me With Your Touch

by callay



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, M/M, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9595892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callay/pseuds/callay
Summary: Credence can’t breathe. His body feels too fragile for this. If Graves’ touch were any more forceful, if he pinched Credence or slid his nails against his skin –Then surely, surely Credence would break and the darkness would spill free.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Started thinking, sure, the obscurus is a metaphor for repressed gay desire... But what if the obscurus actually _were_ repressed gay desire? And then this happened.

It all happens so fast, like taking a breath only to discover you’re drowning.

For Credence, the ocean is Graves, and the riptide that draws him helplessly down is the press of Graves’ mouth against his, fierce and hot and demanding, filling Credence’s senses and taking all his breath.

By the time Credence realizes the danger he’s in, it’s already too late.

While he’s been lost in Graves’ touch, made pliant and helpless, taken to Graves’ bed and undressed – the darkness inside him has only gotten angrier.

Graves’ body on top of his is heavy, but the darkness is heavy too, filling him up, pushing against his ribs. Wherever Graves presses against him, the darkness rushes to press back. Graves’ tongue is hot in his mouth but the darkness is slipping probing tendrils into Credence’s very heart.

It’s too late. Credence will be consumed by the darkness – it will break him to pieces, right here in front of Graves. He can feel the threat of it gnawing at his bones.

And worse still, Credence _wants_ to break. The darkness demands it. It pleads for it, growls for it like a dog at the end of its chain.

Credence feels like there’s only the thinnest layer of himself remaining between the darkness and Graves, but that remaining bit of himself is alive with fear, hot and electric. Credence clutches the fear to him, gathers it up like a shield. He can’t give into the darkness, he _can’t_ –

He tries to breathe.

When he was younger, Credence discovered what it was to touch himself. Waking up from a dream he could barely remember, with his cock hard and the darkness inside him awake and seething, pressing against his skin until he thought he’d burst.

Desperate, he squirmed against the hard mattress, and finally slid a hand between his stomach and the bed and curled it around his cock. He felt stretched thin over the urgent push of the darkness, like at any moment he’d break apart – and breaking apart would be a relief, wouldn’t it, compared to that tight, inescapable tension –

So all he could do was rush headlong towards that breaking point, holding his breath and grinding into his hand, as the darkness churned and swelled inside him. Until, with a hot, sweeping rush of pleasure like nothing he had ever felt before – 

Credence shattered, and the darkness burst out of him.

And the next thing Credence knew was waking up just before dawn, still in his bedroom, like it had never happened. Except that his head was full of swirling, scything darkness, and buildings crumbling, and the sound of screams.

He lay there for a moment, petrified, trying to understand – but in moments, the dream, if that’s what it was, slipped from his mind and was gone. But the darkness remained, curled up fat and satisfied in his chest, reminding him on every breath that something very bad had happened, even if he wasn’t sure exactly what.

He learned the name for this sin, eventually, and did not need to be told it was wrong. The next time he felt desire like that – the swell and ache of his cock, the press and churn of the darkness – he ignored it. He lay curled on his side, breathing shallowly, fists clenched in the sheets, and imagined the darkness withdrawing, compressing into something dense and calm and manageable – until, very slowly, it did, and he could fall into a dim, exhausted sleep.

That was before Graves, though. Before Graves’ hands on his neck, each warm finger pressed to his skin. Before Graves’ breath in his ear, telling him of a world where he will be understood. Before Graves’ body against him, Graves’ arms holding him tight.

The darkness loves Mr. Graves.

It’s awake almost all the time now, jostling and turning in Credence’s chest, waiting to see Graves so it can press itself tight under Credence’s skin like it wants to be close to him. Or waiting for Credence to be alone, so it can surge up suddenly and fill him with a dark and driving need, force Credence down to his knees with one hand pressed to his hard cock and his head full of Graves – Graves’ warm, forceful hands, his wry almost-smiling lips, his dark, dark eyes.

Sometimes Credence takes out his cock and curls his fist around it, just to feel the way the churn of darkness stops writhing angrily and swells inside him instead, pressing itself to the inside edges of him. Sometimes he even gives himself a few strokes, gently, gently, as the darkness tests the corners of him – a deep breath between each stroke, feeling the heavy swirl of darkness shift around his lungs –

He does this as long as he can, until he’s trembling, and the darkness is seething within him, pressing itself to the seams of him, and he knows he’ll lose himself on the next stroke. And then he tucks his hands under his thighs and grits his teeth and waits for the darkness to retreat.

He becomes practiced at this. (Practice involves mistakes. There are times when he can’t force himself to stop in time, when he pushes guiltily into his hand and wakes up later with the taste of dust in his mouth – but –)

But he can do this.

Graves, on top of him, is kissing and kissing him, and Credence can feel the darkness surging up in his throat, eager. He jerks his head away and turns it to the side, swallowing desperately.

Graves goes still. “What’s wrong?”

Credence closes his eyes and wills the darkness to ebb. “Nothing.”

Graves is very still, his body heavy on top of Credence’s, his eyes – Credence can feel them – searching Credence’s face. His voice is calm. “Do you not want this?”

Either way, it’s too late, isn’t it? They’re already here. His lips have already been opened by Graves’ kiss, his mouth already entered by Graves’ tongue. His body has already learned the imprint of Graves’ body against it. Even if he went home now, the darkness whispers in his heart, he’d only find himself rutting into his hand, his head spinning with the memory of Graves’ touch, and he’d shatter just the same.

When he doesn’t respond, Graves grows more impatient. “Tell me now if you don’t. I’m not going to force you, boy.”

The note of frustration in his tone – it makes the darkness shudder eagerly inside Credence, vibrating against his bones. It, too, is impatient. They want the same thing, after all, the darkness and Graves, and it is only Credence who minds the thought of being broken between them as between anvil and hammer.

He has never tried to explain the darkness to Graves. He has never spoken of it to anyone. He’s always wondered if it’s his own private curse, or if everyone carries around their own darkness hidden away in their chest, too private and shameful to discuss.

Even if Credence dared bring it up, he wouldn’t know the words to describe it.

But he has to say something. Keeping his eyes closed against Graves’ dark gaze, he croaks, “It’s… it’s dangerous.”

A long pause, and then, instead of a question, only a sigh. “All right. I should have – All right.”

Graves moves, rolling off Credence to press close to his side instead. Credence takes a sharp, shaking breath, eyes still closed. The darkness is still churning inside of him, stretching tendrils out through his limbs, nudging against his side where Graves’ body is close to his – but the suffocating push of it is less, now that he can breathe.

“I’ll go slowly,” Graves tells him, voice low and warm. “Tell me if you want me to stop.” And he touches Credence: his hand on Credence’s bare chest, sliding warm down his skin. Credence shudders, the darkness rocking inside him like an ocean, surging up under Graves’ touch, arching his back up off the bed.

“There you go,” murmurs Graves. His hand slides down to Credence’s stomach, where Credence’s skin feels tight, a thin, trembling barrier between the worlds inside and outside of him. Graves’ hand is just heavy enough to spark warm friction between their skin, and the darkness leans into it like a cat, throwing its weight eagerly against the touch.

Credence can’t breathe. His body feels too fragile for this. If Graves’ touch were any more forceful, if he pinched Credence or slid his nails against his skin – then surely, surely Credence would break and the darkness would spill free.

The thought makes Credence gasp, his stomach clenching. This needs to stop, he thinks feverishly, fighting the squeeze of darkness around his heart, the eager pulse of it in some foreign, meaningful rhythm. 

He can do this, he tells himself – just like his guilty habit of stroking himself right to the edge of disaster and then forcing the darkness away. All he has to do is get a handle on it, somehow, gather each twisting tendril together into a controlled knot –

“Shh,” breathes Graves. “Relax, Credence.” His hand slips lower still, flat on Credence’s abdomen, and Credence shudders.

“I can’t. I’ll – it –” He can’t say it. “I _can’t_ , Mr. Graves.” 

“I’ll help you, then.” His voice is slow, soothing, and then, without warning, his hand curls around Credence’s cock.

Credence’s whole body tenses and he forgets to breath. Graves’ _hand_ –

Graves’ hand slides slowly up Credence’s cock, a tight, hot, deliberate stroke, and Credence’s breath is forced out of him as a whimper.

“See?” breathes Graves, stroking him slow and even. “I’ll take care of you.”

But oh, this is so much worse.

Each pull of Graves’ hand draws out the darkness, expands it, and then the downward push of his hand feeds that darkness into the great knot inside Credence – that massive swirling weight that nudges impatiently at the thin skin beside Credence’s hips, that pools beneath his cock until it jerks in Graves’ hand, that makes Credence’s balls feel tight and full.

And then Graves’ hand slides up again and there’s that delicious feeling of expansion – if only that could keep going, if only all of the darkness could expand, could spill from Credence’s weak and trembling body and be free –

Credence moans through gritted teeth. Thinking about it, the inevitable and approaching moment when he’ll break, only makes the darkness swell even larger in anticipation. But it’s all he can think about. He doesn’t know what happens to him after that single explosive point – he doesn’t know what he’ll do to Mr. Graves –

Maybe, he thinks, maybe the darkness escaping is all in his head. Maybe all that really happens is that sweeping moment of pleasure and then he falls asleep. Maybe it would be safe, after all, to give in to the tight persuasive rhythm of Graves’ fist.

Maybe he’ll let go, and end this unbearable throbbing pressure, and maybe the dangers he imagines won’t even be real.

He pushes his hips desperately up into Graves’ grip, taking a breath and holding it –

And then Graves takes his hand away from Credence’s cock.

The darkness howls its disappointment against the inside of Credence’s chest, rattling his bones like a cage, ruthless and dangerous as a wild beast.

Credence bites down on his tongue to keep from crying out. The danger is real – of course it is. The darkness will consume him and then it will consume Mr. Graves, who’s guilty of nothing but noticing Credence, of being kind, of making Credence feel things he’s never felt before. Credence has to hold it back.

But there’s no relief, even when Graves isn’t touching him – the darkness is strong enough now to feed on itself, to tighten its grip on his insides in a slow desperate rhythm so that his hips jerk and his cock bounces against his stomach –

For a moment Graves just watches him, eyes sliding from Credence’s flushed face down his trembling chest, over the helpless clench of his stomach, lingering on the urgent push of his hips.

Credence shudders all over. Under the heat of Graves’ gaze, he imagines that Graves might catch a glimpse of the roiling darkness, swelling eagerly up under Credence’s thin skin, that Graves might understand what he’s going through and might –

His head is spinning and he can’t even decide what he wants Graves to do. That Graves might let him rest, finally, might leave him be so that Credence can get the darkness under control. Or that Graves might see his need and touch him again, a few tight perfect strokes that leave Credence no choice but to break –

Instead Graves touches his thigh, his hand curved big and hot over the width of it. Credence gasps, tensing, but Graves pushes between his legs anyway, gentle but determined, forcing his thighs apart.

“I wonder if you’ll do something for me, Credence?”

And Credence wants to be good, he does – he hates that he has to resist the darkness, when all he’s ever wanted to do is stop fighting and give himself entirely up to Graves. “Yes,” he gasps out, and parts his legs as Graves’ hand slides between them, fingers hot against Credence’s skin, slipping down, back, between –

And then Graves’ finger is pressed somewhere unbearably private and Graves is murmuring close to his ear, “Will you let me inside you, Credence?”

Panic sparks white-hot through Credence’s veins and he jerks away, gasping. The darkness is filling every inch of him– the thought of Graves putting something else inside him is impossible –

Graves lays his hand across Credence’s legs and holds him still. “Relax, Credence.”

“Please,” gasps Credence. Graves’ hand is already sliding back down, trying to push between his thighs. “Please don’t –”

Graves’ hand stills, and he takes a deep breath. Then he raises his hand to push Credence’s hair back from his forehead, leaning in, his body pressed close to Credence’s side. “All right, then.”

Relief swoops through Credence’s stomach, strong enough to bring tears to his eyes. The darkness is still pulsing inside him, making his whole body feel hot and tense, but he can fight it back. He can control it, if he just takes a deep breath –

“I’ll just have to fuck you after I make you come, won’t I?” murmurs Graves. “When you’re so helpless and overcome you can’t keep fighting like this. How does that sound, Credence?”

The words knock all the breath from Credence, all the hope of control, and all he can do is whimper before Graves’ mouth is on his. Graves’ kiss is even fiercer than before, all hard pressure and hot sweeping tongue, possessive, demanding. And in the same motion that he rolls half on top of Credence, his hand finds Credence’s cock again, and strokes him in that same tight slow rhythm, heart-stopping pulls of his fist that make the darkness swell right up to edges of Credence.

He remembers what Graves had said – “Tell me if you want me to stop” – and he twists his head to the side and gasps, “S-stop, it’s too much –”

Graves’ hand doesn’t stop.

“Oh, Credence. You’re going to have to learn what it’s like at some point.”

The darkness is growing up Credence’s throat like a vine, filling his eyes with black clouds, buzzing in his ears. “It’s dangerous,” he chokes out, not knowing what else to say.

“Shh.” Graves leans in close and tells him, low and fierce, “Forget whatever nonsense they taught you. You want this and I want to give this to you.”

It’s not Credence who wants it, though, it’s the darkness – arching his back, clenching his stomach, pushing his hips up into Graves’ hand. Trembling inside him like something hungry and alive. Like a wolf about to bring down a rabbit, or maybe like the blood of the rabbit instead, tight and fast through its veins, about to spill free onto the snow.

“Please,” gasps Credence. Out of desperation, he unclenches his hands from the sheet and reaches for Graves’ wrist, tries to pull it away – but with a muttered word of magic, Graves pins Credence’s hands over his head. Holds them there with some cool magical force, not even slowing the steady rhythm of his fist on Credence’s cock.

“Just relax,” growls Graves. “Let it happen, Credence.”

Credence squirms, planting his heels in the bed, tugging at his wrists, but Graves has him trapped. The darkness grows and grows. He’d cry if he had any room for tears – he’d plead if he had any room for breath –

How can he do anything now but give in to tight, impossible pressure of it? What choice is there but to let himself fall apart into oblivion?

“Help me,” he tries to say, but the words die, weak and breathless, on his tongue.

It’s pointless anyway. It’s too late.

“See?” murmurs Graves from a long way away. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I, Credence?”

His fist is moving faster now, careful tight strokes that twist up Credence’s shaft, and the build and build of pleasure is –

Finally –

Too much.

Credence’s breath stops and his whole body shudders and, with blackness flooding his vision and a cry caught in his throat, he breaks.

It’s a great swelling rush of pleasure, a sweeping feeling of release that catches up every particle of him, as the being that was Credence shatters and the darkness howls its freedom against the walls of Graves’ bedroom.

And that, the sweet inevitable rush of release and the image of Graves drawing back with shock and confusion on his face, is the last thing Credence knows for a long, long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [calllay](https://calllay.tumblr.com/post/156889540608) on Tumblr, please talk to me about weird obscurus things.


End file.
